


Two People Who Live Together

by apliddell



Series: Irrational and Sentimental [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Johnlock, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Mary, Post S3, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock talks in his sleep, and John listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“That,” I announced, settling against the wall near the entryway staircase of 221 Baker Street, “was amazing.”

  
Sherlock flopped against the wall next to me with a thump, “Oh did you think so?”

I grinned at him, “Have I not praised you enough yet?”

Sherlock smiled one of the little smiles that only I get to see and made a brave attempt to toss his head nonchalantly, “I’m sure I’m satisfied with whatever compliments you see fit to dispense, John.”

That was an invitation, if ever I heard one. I turned to face him full on and leaned in a bit, lowering my voice, “You’re really extraordinary, you know. I’ll never get tired of listening to you line everything up like that, neat as you like. You’re just,” I paused and stroked his arm, “incredible.” Sherlock’s small smile grew as he listened with his chin on his chest and his eyes lowered.

When I stopped speaking, he let out this gentle sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath, and his expression was so sweet, it hurt, ”Thank you,” He leaned in and kissed me with another little sigh. “Shall we go upstairs, John?”

“Yeah, lets.”

As soon as Sherlock’d hung up his coat, he made for the bedroom. I went into the kitchen, and Sherlock reappeared in his pyjamas and dressing gown as I was putting the kettle on. He paused to watch me for a moment, then draped an arm about my neck and kissed my cheek, “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” I returned the kiss, “starving.”

Sherlock checked his watch, “The dim sum place is still open.”

I snorted, “The one that won’t serve us after a certain detective mentioned the owner’s third son in front of his wife, who was only aware of the two?”

Sherlock nosed my ear and giggled, “Won’t serve me, you mean. A certain doctor, being aware that discretion is the better part of valour, has never been banned from any of his favourite restaurants and may call for delivery as he chooses.”

“Lucky me, I get to play secretary.”

Sherlock kissed me again, “What would I do without you, John?”

“Starve to death on the sofa probably.”

“Indubitably,” Sherlock gave me a little squeeze, then swept out to the sitting room. I followed a few minutes later, after I’d phoned for the food and poured the tea. Sherlock was stretched out on his back on the sofa, asleep with his violin on his belly.

“Well that was quick.” I put his mug on the coffee table and sat down in my chair to enjoy my own tea.

Sherlock shifted and snored softly, “John.”

I smiled. He talks in his sleep sometimes. I think it’s mainly to do with the fact that he is generally incapable both of shutting up and of falling asleep at a respectable time in a respectable place. “Yeah?” I like to answer him when he calls me, even if he doesn’t exactly know he’s called.

“John,” Sherlock grunted.

“Right here, Sherlock,” I dithered for a moment, considering whether I ought to go and wake him. “I’m right here, Sherlock. You’re all right.”

Sherlock snored a whistly little snore and sighed, “John,” he murmured, “marry me.”

I nearly dropped my mug, “What?! Sherlock! Are you asleep?” Sherlock apparently slept on. “Sherlock? I’ve got to say if this is a game or a trick or something. And you’re just. Pretending to propose in your sleep for a joke, I’m going to be very not pleased, Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock did not respond. I set my mug down on the side table and stood up to have a better look at him. “Sherlock?” He looked convincingly asleep. There wasn’t even the tiniest flicker on his features when I called his name. I started to edge a bit closer, when the front door buzzer went. We both started. He bumped his violin with his knee and it slid out of his lap and gently to the floor.

Sherlock sat up and harrumphed, smacking his lips, “Was that the door, John?” He reached for his violin and cradled it apologetically.

I squinted at him, “What?”

Sherlock looked up from his violin, eyebrows raised, “The door, John. That’ll be the food,” he set his violin down on the coffee table and picked up his mug instead. “My wallet is in my coat, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

“I can pay!”

Sherlock sipped his tea, “Never said you couldn’t.”

The buzzer went again, “And what’s more, you can answer the door for once in your life.”

Sherlock shook his head mock-sadly, “Banned, John. I’ve been banned. The dim sum fetching falls to you, I’m afraid. But I’m flush with success and feeling generous. Take my card.”

I laughed, “Handjob on the sofa with the telly on mute and we might even call this a date.”

Sherlock snorted, “I have the manners to pause, John. Wouldn’t want you missing any essential Bake-Off minutes.”

I kissed him on my way across the room, “I’d rewind for you. That’s what I record them for, eh?”

Sherlock pressed a hand to his heart, “You’ve a talent for compliments, John.”

I got Sherlock’s card out and popped down to fetch the food. Over dinner, Sherlock seemed normal enough. He was either devouring dumplings or chattering happily about the case. Quite typical of having just finished a case; he gets hungry and gossipy. I was happy to let him natter on uninterrupted.

...

“You are preoccupied,” Sherlock remarked as he climbed into bed next to me a few hours later.

“I call it tired,” I said, holding out an arm.

Sherlock nestled against me and shook his head, “When you’re tired, and you don’t want to sleep, you fidget or talk to keep yourself awake. You’re thinking.”

I toyed with the hem of his t shirt while I considered how to answer, “Ahm. Sherlock, how long exactly would you say we’ve been together?”

Sherlock looked gravely at me for a moment, then reached behind him to take his watch off the night table, “Two thousand two hundred and sixty days, ten hours, and oh fourteen minutes.” I laughed. He prodded me, “You said exactly.”

“We’ve not been together since the minute we met, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed, “Fine, be tedious. You haven’t slept in your own bed in about twenty two weeks. I suppose your calculations will hew closer to that timeline.”

“Hmmm,” I considered. “Feels longer than twenty-two weeks.”

“Two thousand two hundred and sixty days, ten hours, and fifteen minutes. Yes, I agree.”

I sighed, “I’m sorry I was so slow, Sherlock.”

He stroked my left hand and lightly squeezed my third finger, “We had things needing sorting first.” Sherlock replaced his watch on the night table, then kissed my chest. “I have had what I need,” he said quietly. “And anyway, at first you were quite quick.”

I giggled, “You’re a catch.”

“I never argue in bed.”

I laughed and kissed the top of his head, “I’m going to remind you that you said that.”

Sherlock laughed too, “I’m sure you’ll never need to.”

Sherlock fell asleep with his head on my shoulder, and I stayed awake much longer. Eventually he did mutter in his sleep again, but all he said was, “Black, please with two sugars. And one white without for my boyfriend.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, there you are at last,” Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa with his hands clasped over his belly when I got up the next morning.

“It’s only half eight,” I said, shoving his feet aside so that I could sit down next to him. “And I was up til after two, and it’s Saturday.”

Sherlock propped his feet against my outer thigh before he replied, “Well Mycroft called. He wants the file he left for the thing we finished yesterday, and he wants it straight away.”

“He should send someone to collect it.”

“That’d be terribly considerate of him, but if you even think the words ‘send Anthea’ in his presence, he drones on for a quarter of an hour about the Official Secrets Act.” I stroked the top of Sherlock’s left foot, then along to his arch. He smiled and shut his eyes briefly, “I told him you’d be over to the Diogenes in an hour.”

“Me?!”

“Well, I’m not going,” Sherlock dug his heel into my thigh, “After a case, once I’m out of my trousers, it takes at least a nine to get me back into them within the next forty-eight hours. We agreed.”

“You say ‘we agreed’ about an awful lot of things I never heard of before.”

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock inclined his head to invite me to pet his hair. I pulled it a bit instead, just to watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat when he swallowed, “You ought to listen properly.”

I kissed his temple, “You’re an arse.”

Sherlock shut his eyes and smiled, “And you’re in love with me. You’ve got horrible taste.”

“What can I say? I’ve been seduced,” I kissed his cheek and down his jaw to his neck.

Sherlock swallowed again, then nudged me with his head, “Toast for you on the bench under the serviette. And I’ve made coffee.”

I grinned and kissed him again, “Have you really? Don’t think that makes up for throwing me out of the flat at half eight on a Saturday morning.”

“I didn’t know it was Saturday when I made the arrangement,” Sherlock said. “Forgive me for thinking you might be hungry.”

“How is it that you never know what day it is?”

Sherlock shrugged, “What would be the point in keeping track of that? You always tell me.” I laughed at that, then after one more kiss, I got up to claim my breakfast.

...

“Ah John, how nice to see you. You’re looking in the pink. How’s Sherlock?”

“Thanks Mycroft,” I took my seat and handed over the documents I’d come to deliver. “Spoke to him this morning, didn’t you?”

Mycroft put the file away in his desk without glancing at it, “So I did, but your accounts of him always have such lively colour.”

“Ha well thanks, I suppose. He’s, erm. Lively.”

Mycroft smiled, one eyebrow raised, “Indeed. As ever. I see you’ve had your breakfast. Would you care for tea or coffee?”

I brushed the corners of my mouth to check for toast crumbs, “I’m fine, thanks. Anyway, I’m not stopping.”

“Aren’t you? You’ve sat down. Though I suppose you will want to get back to Sherlock.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Want to get back to Sherlock? Why do you say that?”

Mycroft cocked his head and frowned with polite puzzlement, “You generally do.”

“Right.” That was true enough, though it didn’t make me feel less suspicious, “What do you know?”

“A good many things, though perhaps not the specific thing you are referring to, John. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have tea?”

“Sherlock hasn’t mentioned anything to you about. Erm. His future plans?”

There must have been something telling in my face. Or else it was just Holmes magic, because Mycroft smiled knowingly, “Sherlock’s announcements tend to come fait accompli. Particularly as they pertain to his, ah, personal life.”

“Right yes, of course. They would. Hmm.” I clasped my hands out of habit and nerves, but the left one remained quite steady. It doesn’t shake much these days.

Mycroft regarded me for a moment and made another of his sympathetic little smiles, “This is not an area in which I generally venture to offer advice, but as you’ve already opened the subject.” He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a card, and handed it to me, “If you find yourself looking to give a gift soon, my friend Bates may be of some use to you.” It was the card for a jeweller.

I stared down at that little bit of cardboard for a long moment with a sort of giddiness fluttering in my stomach, “Thanks.” I put the card into my breast pocket, then immediately took it out again. “Am I going to be able to put this somewhere Sherlock won’t find it?”

“Not if he suspects he has something to look for, I imagine.”

I pulled out my phone and entered the number into my contacts, then passed the card back to Mycroft, “Thanks Mycroft.”

He smiled more sincerely than I’d ever seen him do before, “It’s my pleasure, John, really. Flattered to be consulted.”

“Flattered?” That rather surprised me.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, “He’s my younger brother, John. I do feel some warmth for him.”

“I know that. Only I rather thought you didn’t exactly approve of me.”

Mycroft laughed dryly, “You have your notions from Sherlock, and he would have you imagine I don’t approve of anything.”

“Well, I think I’ll take that as a compliment and leave while I’m ahead.” I stood.

Mycroft rose to see me to the door, “Good morning, John. And good luck.”

...

Sherlock was just where I’d left him, and he put his phone down on the coffee table and reached out for me with one hand when I came in, “Ah, there you are. I was just texting my brother to demand an explanation for your tardiness. What did he keep you all morning for?”

I hung up my coat and crossed the room to comply with his unspoken request for a kiss, “I’ve only been an hour.” Sherlock shrugged and wrapped an arm around my waist. I kissed his hair, “Missed me, did you?”

“It’s so quiet without you.”

I rubbed his scalp with my fingertips, and he shut his eyes, “Don’t you just carry on talking when I’m away?”

Sherlock hmmed and butted his head against my hand without opening his eyes, “Not the same. I can recall you, but I can’t recreate you. You do you so much better than I do. It’s why I need you.” He opened one eye, “Among other things.”

“Fetch and carry and where’s the tin opener,” I gave Sherlock’s hair a tug, and he shivered.

“I need you,” he repeated. “I can find the tin opener, John. I’m not an idiot.”

“No, of course not. I was only joking.” Sherlock hmphed, and I kissed his hair again. “I like doing things for you.”

“I know you do; that’s why I let you.”

I laughed a bit and stroked his back, “You do know I’m not going anywhere, don’t you?”

Sherlock looked at me, “No?”

“Never,” I said firmly. “Been stupid enough for one lifetime, haven’t I?”

Sherlock slumped against me, hiding his face in my shoulder, “You aren’t stupid, John.”

“I just want you to know, okay? You and me, Sherlock” I patted his back. “You and me for the rest of my life.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, his face still in my shoulder, “I’m beginning to count on it, John.”


	3. Chapter 3

Any progress?  
M

 

I haven’t even had the appointment with jeweller yet. It’s only been a week.

 

Do let me know if I can assist.  
M

 

Thanks.

 

Bates is tremendous and very fond of Sherlock. It is why I suggested her.  
M

 

I thought it was probably something like that.

 

I’m not going to change my mind about him, Mycroft.

 

Excuse my interference. I don’t mean to offend.  
M

 

I should have known you’d be interested. It’s sweet, actually.

 

Asking once is sweet. If you have me kidnapped to take me ring shopping, I will find that less sweet.

 

Noted.  
M

 

Welcome to the family, John.  
M

 

Thanks :)

 

He hasn’t accepted yet, though.

 

Still, we may consider the remark several years overdue.  
M

 

…

 

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself lately,” Sherlock observed as I freshened his wine glass.

“Yeah?” I sat down in my chair and sipped from my own wine glass, “What makes you think I’m not pleased with you?”

Sherlock waved the notion away, “Oh you’re always pleased with me. Acute besottedness-” here he paused, grinning to let me giggle.

 

“You sound like you’re about to write me a prescription.”

Sherlock set his glass down and leaned toward me, “You’re the doctor. What do you usually recommend for such cases?”

I cleared my throat and sat up straight, “At this stage, treatment is impossible. The only thing to do is make the patient more comfortable.”

Sherlock nodded gravely, “Long breakfasts, rambles in the park.”

“Fireside drinks, sex in the sitting room. You’ve got the right idea.”

Sherlock bounced an eyebrow, “Far be it from me to withhold palliation.” Sherlock slid out of his chair onto one knee, and I thought briefly of the little box tucked between the mattress and the box spring in the empty bedroom upstairs. But Sherlock crawled a little way forward, til he was right between my knees, then patted the left one and looked up at me expectantly, “May I?”

“Feel free,” I half stood to get out of my trousers, and Sherlock helped me pull them off.

I was still soft, so once he’d settled himself crosslegged between my thighs again, Sherlock started off quite slow. With one hand on my hip, he dragged a string of soft, wet, biting, sucking kisses up one of my thighs and down the other.

I sighed and opened my legs a bit wider, and Sherlock looked up at me with a smile, “Good?”

“Yes!” He leaned in again and licked along the seam between my leg and my groin, laughing in his throat as he did. I gripped my armrests and dropped my head back against my chair with a little thump.

Sherlock looked up as if alarmed, but I could see the smugness in his eyes, “All right, John?” I nodded. “Good,” he purred and popped two fingers into his mouth. They came out glistening and dripping a second later, and Sherlock dragged his slick fingers slowly up and down my perineum. I slid my hips forward a bit further on my seat and opened my legs wider. Sherlock hovered for a moment, breathing warm on the cool trail he’d left on me, then he circled my arsehole gently with one wet fingertip and with the other hand, he took hold of my cock. He stroked my cock slowly for a few moments, rubbing the underside firmly with his thumb. I groaned, and Sherlock laughed again, low and wicked. He knows just what he does to me. He licked up the shaft quickly before taking the head in his mouth.

“Oh god, Sherlock!” I thumped my head against the chair, and Sherlock hummed in answer and pressed his fingertip slowly inside of me. “Oooh! Jesus, that’s good.” Sherlock pulled up and almost off to lick the tip and roll the foreskin between his lips before taking me in deeper than he had before. “Oooh, god yes, gorgeous. Just like that, Sherlock.”  
When Sherlock found his rhythm, I cupped his head to stroke his hair. Every time he pulled up to suck hard at the tip, I would grip his hair and try to keep my hips still. Sherlock stroked along my inner thigh, then dropped his hand in my lap to gently squeeze my scrotum. I rocked my hips shallowly, and Sherlock sucked and squeezed a bit harder, and pressed his finger deeper up into me. When he pulled up again and rolled his tongue rough over the head of my cock, I came with a little shout. I let go of his hair, and Sherlock sat back, pink-cheeked with a quiet sigh and laid his head in my lap, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

I stroked his shoulder, “Could you come up here, please?” Sherlock stood and perched on the arm of my chair, but I pulled him into my lap and kissed him. He hmmed and nosed my hair. I stroked his back and laced together the fingers of my free hand with his. “That was fantastic, and I’m going to get to you in just a moment. On the bed, though, since my knees are nearly six years older than yours.”

Sherlock kissed the top of my head, “Nearly seven. And I know when I’m being put off, my sneak.”

I squeezed his hand, then raised it and kissed it, “I’ll tell you everything, soon.”

Sherlock kissed me again, “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock stilled his bow and looked at my reflection in the window he faced as he played.

I smiled when he caught my eye, “What?”

“You are staring,” Sherlock wagged his bow at my reflection, “I can see you thinking thoughts about me, John Watson; it’s like a hand on my shoulder. Now out with it.”

I laughed, “Do you really want to know?”

Sherlock set his instrument down in its case and turned to face me, considering, “Yes. Is it something about me?”

“Aren’t they always?”

“Often,” Sherlock cocked his head, “Not always. But I suppose I can stand to hear about things that are not me. Occasionally.”

I laughed, “Occasionally, eh? Well not this time, I’m afraid. This is about you. I can tell it to you now, if you like.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, “Just like that? What happened to secrecy?”

“I’ve been sitting on it too long already, honestly. Ha, waiting on a moment, I suppose. But now it’s burning a hole in my pocket.”

Sherlock stepped forward, his eyes sparkling, “Burning, is it?”

I grinned at him, “Oh god, yes.”

Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet and rubbed his hands together, “But I haven’t deduced it. How is it that I haven’t deduced it?”

I took a step toward him, beaming, “You suggested it, actually. But I expect you don’t remember.”

“Me?!” Sherlock creased his brow at that and looked me up and down, scanning for clues he’d missed.

“You can try and deduce it, if you like. I fancy a walk, actually, and I’ve got a prop I need. Why don’t you go and wait for me in front of the flat, and I’ll be down in a moment.”

“A prop!” Sherlock was already reaching for his jacket.

“A little one,” I kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” I turned to mount the stairs up to the empty bedroom, but not before I saw Sherlock hop in a tight circle on the spot. We do like our games.

…

 

I joined Sherlock on the pavement a few minutes later. I almost could have sworn the ring in my breast pocket was hot to touch. Sherlock raked me with his eyes as I descended the stairs. That was quite hot, too. He offered me his arm; I took it, and we set off.

“Are you deducing yet?” I asked when we’d walked for a bit in silence.

“Always, John,” Sherlock squeezed my hand.

“Well?” I was half amazed at how calm I felt. How at ease.

“Where is your prop, John?”

“Deduce it.” Sherlock halted and so did I. We turned to face each other, and Sherlock bounced on the spot, gazing at me like he could swallow me up and absorb me if he only looked hard enough.

I smiled back at him as big as I could, and he began to giggle, looking at me, “What on earth is so funny, John? It must be something nice, as it’s got you giddy like this.”

“All right,” something was unfurling in my middle. I took a deep breath, “Maybe the prop will help.” I pulled the ring out of my pocket and held it up.

Sherlock’s eyes opened very wide and his lip trembled the tiniest bit, “John?”

“Sherlock,” I took his hand and wet my lips. When I started, I was quite steady, but as I looked into his lovely face, my voice began to shake, “Sherlock. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are far and away the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. You’re my dearest friend, and I want to be yours forever. Will you marry me?”

Sherlock blinked hard, but his eyes were wet, “You want to. Marry. Me?”

I smiled and reached for his hand to squeeze it, “I asked you first.” He giggled nervously. “Yes, Sherlock. Of course I want to marry you,” I squeezed again. My own eyes were pricking and they ran over as I looked up into his face, “Haven’t I always?”

Sherlock swallowed, “Always?”

“Two thousand two hundred seventy five days, six hours, nine minutes.”

Sherlock held his hand out, and I slid the ring on, “Yes, John. I will.”


End file.
